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Jake: But I need to see you in another dress to be sure, so meet me for dinner.
Me: Aren’t you going to promise it’ll be strictly professional?
Jake: No. The one thing about me you need to know is I don’t break promises. There’s no reality where I can be in your presence and think strictly professional thoughts.
Me: How will we work together if this deal goes through?
Jake: We need to talk about that over dinner.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, my phone resting on my stomach. I didn’t have to be facing forward during the beginning conversations with Motor Zone, thereby avoiding this situation with Jake all together.
Dating him was out of the question—if that was even what he was after. And I couldn’t possibly sleep with him again.
So why was I vacillating?
Why was I tempted to say yes to dinner? Or more?
Jake: Take the day to think about it.
Me: I don’t need to think about it. The answer is no.
Jake: You’re disappointing me, Clara. If you dig deep, I bet you’re disappointing yourself too.
I tossed my phone on my desk and groaned at the ceiling.
He wasn’t wrong. A part of me wished I was the kind of woman who could throw caution to the wind, but that would never be me. I’d never been that way and had far too much to lose to change now.
Chapter Nine
Clara
I did not indulge in much, but there were a few luxuries I had long ago deemed necessary for survival. Biweekly pedicures with two of my best friends were on the top of that list and had a special, nonnegotiable place on my calendar.
Today, I was four minutes late. Needless to say, by the time I settled into my massage chair between Bea and Shira and dunked my feet in the warm water, I was a frazzled mess.
“I thought you died,” Bea intoned.
“No.” I smoothed my hand over the top of my head. “I’m alive, but my assistant might not be for long. He was supposed to interrupt my call with—”
Bea put her hand on my arm, drawing my attention to her. She shook her head, her perfect blue curls bobbing. “I do not care.”
“Bea!” Shira whisper-shouted from the other side of me.
Bea leaned forward, her brow raised. “Do you care about her phone call with her client?”
Shira worried her bottom lip with her fingers. “It isn’t that I don’t care. It’s the text you sent earlier…”
“Right, the text.” I nodded.
“The one about you sleeping with a random biker in a bar,” Bea added helpfully, paying no mind to the three women working on our feet or other women scattered around the salon.
I pressed my hand over my chugging heart. “Let me take a breath before I spill my guts.”
“Take as long as you need,” Shira said softly.
“Not too long,” Bea added sharply, making me laugh under my breath.
Shira had come into my life several years ago when she’d married one of Rossi’s board members, Frank Goldman. Half his age, and a resting bitch face that could cut with just a look, most people had steered clear of Frank’s child bride. But something about her had compelled me to get to know her. I’d discovered she was painfully shy and one of the sweetest humans on the planet. Since losing Frank last year, she’d been making a valiant effort to keep his company running, but my friend wasn’t having an easy go of it.
